


Musical Interlude

by J_Mads



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:22:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Mads/pseuds/J_Mads
Summary: Bill fails to guess a song from its guitar riff.





	Musical Interlude

“No,” Bill said around a mouthful of biscuit. “Sorry.” She swallowed and leaned over the railing. “No idea.”  
The Doctor sighed and killed the feedback from the guitar. “God, really? It’s _Brothers in Arms _.__ Dire Straits _ _?”__  
She shook her head.  
“Maybe this isn’t tuned right.”  
“No, I’m just not well up on the classics. What are the lyrics?”  
He swung the strap over his head and unhooked the amp. “I don’t really sing. But it’s about a war.”  
“Oh. Okay. Cool.”  
He squinted. “Hm?”  
Bill walked down the steps two at a time and took the amp from him. “Oof. No, I get it. Personal.”  
“It’s not _personal _,”__ he said, witheringly. “Give that back, you can’t carry that.”  
“I absolutely can! And really, it’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.”  
The Doctor took the amplifier back and began to walk away down the hallway. “There’s no ‘it’ to talk about.”  
“If you say so.”  
He put it down too hard and then the guitar too gently. Then he turned around and put his hands in his pockets. “Why are you doing this?”  
“Doctor, I’m not doing anything!"  
"You're deliberately picking a fight, for no reason. And after I've just saved your life. You're welcome, _again _."__  
"No. No, that's what you're doing. You're literally...You're projecting."  
He walked towards her. The light in the TARDIS was playing tricks on his face, deepening the hollows in his cheeks and making his mouth a livid scar. He only seemed that angry, she reminded herself.  
"What?" he said harshly.  
"I've seen enough social workers, I know the lingo. You're just saying that because _you're_ picking a fight, because __you're__ upset _."_  
"I know what projecting means. You don't know what you're talking about. I have half a master's degree in human psychology!"  
"Well, you’re acting like you’re sixteen! You’ve been in a mood all day!”  
A tumultuous silence. Bill stepped closer. “Hey, mister. My eyes are up here. Not on the floor.”  
The corners of his mouth twitched, at that. “You’re right,” he said. “No, you're...it’s one of those days. This just…happens…”  
“Okay,” said Bill, when he did not stop running his hands through his hair. “Fine. Happens to everyone. I mean, sometimes I get so sad about my mum that I can’t breathe.”  
“Oh, me too, about mine.” The Doctor sat against the wall with his knees folded up to his chin and patted the space next to him. Bill left what she felt was a respectful amount of distance.  
“Obviously, I want to talk about it,” said the Doctor, “Just not to you.”  
“Thanks.”  
“ _Yes _,”__ he said, turning towards her, eyes dark with sudden fervor, “You ___should___ be thanking me, and whatever good fortune, whatever twist of fate you have had in life that means you will never be able to understand, to know what I know. You should be grateful.”  
“S’pose you’re right,” she said quietly. “Even so. Have you thought about keeping a journal?”  
“There’s an idea,” he said, wearily.  
“I did, for a while. You know, I should start one again. I wouldn’t want to forget any of this. Not that I think I ever could.”  
“There are going to be things you will wish you could forget.”  
“Probably. Already have been, now that I think about it. You know, sometimes I forget you’re not actually my grandfather.”

 

The Doctor buried his face in his hands. This, apparently, was a bridge too far. When he did not resurface after a moment Bill put a cautious hand across his trembling shoulders.  
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered to his fingers, after some time. He sniffed, and wiped his eyes. “Oh…I need a vacation. I’m like a soft-boiled egg. Why don’t you focus on your schooling for an uninterrupted week or so, hmm? How about that?”  
“A vacation from _me _?”__ she said, indignantly, although the effect was ruined somewhat by her voice, which sounded like she had a bad head cold.  
“Yes. Thank you.” He took the offered tissue. Bill tried to blow her nose silently. This was physically impossible. They sat in silence as each pretended not to notice the other cleaning up.  
“I’m not going to sing the song to you,” the Doctor said abruptly. “The one from before.”  
She raised her eyebrows. “I...wasn’t expecting you to.”  
“But I was close, Bill. Very close.” He shook his head in disgust and looped his arm around her shoulder, so now they were mirrored, each holding half a crumpled Kleenex with the hand they weren’t using to hold each other. “Terrible.”  
“I bet you don’t even sing ‘Happy Birthday’.”  
“No, never.”  
“Not even for kids.”  
“No exceptions. I can’t even remember how it goes. I plug my ears, every time.”  
“When’s your birthday?”  
“How should I know? When’s yours?” He tilted his head. “No, I don't like that face. Is it today _ _?”__  
She grimaced. “Day before yesterday. I honestly forgot myself, it’s not a big deal…”  
He leapt to his feet. “Nonsense. Come on, let me make it up to you.”  
Bill let herself be helped up. “No, honestly…”  
“Anywhere you like. Anywhere at all.”  
“Well…I’ve just spent two weeks in a quantum pocket dimension in a different galaxy, so…could we maybe just get some normal Earth ice cream?”  
He got a strange look on his face for a moment, but it was replaced just as quickly with a smile. “Of course. Of course we can.”


End file.
